Sound the bugle
by Spofe25
Summary: Billy is dying. Not being able to handle it, he blocks out the world along with his emotions and waits out the rest of his days in the studio. Inspired by 'Sound the Bugle' by Bryan Adams. I do not own the song or Dude, that's my ghost. WARNING: Sad/depressing (but does get better towards the end) drugs/ alcohol...
1. Chapter 1

**Sound the bugle**

Death was waiting for me...

There was no mistaking that.

But there he was, outside my door...mocking me, with that sly grin and those bony fingers of his.

It's almost like he'd anticipated it all, and just couldn't wait to meet my acquaintance. To shake my hand and claim what was his, for all eternity.

Little did I know however, that he's actually been stood outside my door for a long time.. and it's only taken me a month to discover him lingering up and down the halls. Casting shadows and drawing curtains with the hands I recognise but no longer control, my mansion soon plunges into utter darkness and despair,

Dragging my heart along with it.

I had told my manager that I wanted a rest, that I wanted some quality 'me' time for a while.

Smiling warmly, she answered with sympathy. Saying that she understood what I was going through and that I can call her whenever I need a chat.

It had been 2 weeks since I had that conversation with her.

I never did call her, because there was nothing to talk about. She didn't understand. She didn't know what I was going through... no one did.

So I cut off the world and all it's resources. Secluding myself to the one room I could still stand in without feeling sick to my stomach, the recording studio.

Away from prying eyes and greed stricken trigger fingers.

I hated them all.

I hated their fake smiles and flashing cameras. The way they would circle from above, watching my every move. Just waiting for me to screw up before diving down, picking clean any scraps of dignity I had left.

Vultures.

But more than anything.. I hated them, because of what they made me out to be.

A monster.

A Cold blooded, self loving, ego manic, ruthless... monster.

..and that's just what I became.

Right from the beginning, it had been my dream.. my only escape from the miserableness of existence and shitty family life. To sing was my passion, my life.. my love. It was all about the music, the lyrics and their powerful meanings.

That's what it was all about.

Was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Bringing the joint up to my pale lips, I held it loosely between my index finger and thumb. Briefly letting go as I took in a deep inhale, I squinted in disgust as the smoke slithered down my throat, filling my lungs to the brim.

Blankly staring at the wall in front of me with half lidded eyes, I parted my mouth before watching the smoke dance and twirl around my face.

A small smirk tugged at my lips all of a sudden, when my mind drifted to Spencer, my distant cousin. If I'm honest, this must have been the first time I've generally smiled in 3 weeks, tops. I've been feeling so low lately, it's amazing I even still know how to... but the kid always did know how to cheer me up.

Meeting at an annual family reunion, back when I was still writing songs and desperately trying to control my voice from breaking, we shared a special bond, right from the beginning.

Both clearly bored out of our skulls, we bumped into each other down the hall.. one insult led to another, and before I knew it, the kid was dragging me by the hand into his room, showing me all his stuffed monster toys and horror films with such an excited look plastered over his face. Feeling like this was the first time he's ever had a friend over, I'll never forget the pain my chest that spread.. at the thought of this happy, little boy not having any friends.

But I mean for God's sake, the child must have been about 7, and there I was, a 15 year old, quivering like a baby at the mere front cover of one of the films labelled 'Zombie baseball massecure'.

Considering the little guy harboured a rather unhealthy obsession over these sort of films, which I particularly would rather gouge my own eyes out than watch, we found that we did in fact share some interests after all. For example, I discovered that he had a crappy, little camera which looked like it was going to fall apart at any moment. Telling me that he wanted to grow up to be a famous director, my heart melted at the sheer determination in his tiny voice. It reminded me of myself back when I around his age. I remember being as certain about my career as he was, the first time I picked up a guitar... the indescribable feeling that shot throughout my whole body... I never wanted to put the thing back down.

So I made a promise to him that night, that when I was rich and famous.. I would send him a brand new one. That he could become just as famous as I was, and that he could direct all my music videos and that we would be best bros forever.

But, as you could probably guess.. all the fame and wealth went straight to my head after a few years, and I soon forgot about my little Brometheius back in Cow-country. Along with everything else that was important to me, including my own family.

He probably forgot about me a long time ago anyway.

The thought of it all now eats away at me almost every day.. but I do believe that it was for the best. I never wanted him to see what I became, but at the same time.. I did. Then he wouldn't make the same mistake as me when it was his turn in the spot light.

I sent him that camera I promised a few days ago, a slightly larger, hand-held green one. Not really caring if he got confused as to who sent it.. just as long as I kept my promise, he deserved at least that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Now usually, at around this time of the day I would be found downstairs, preferably in the kitchen stuffing my face with my favourite food... smooth peanut butter.

But, I had to admit.. these past few weeks had left me feeling rather sick, and I didn't see myself getting any better. So as you could probably tell, I wasn't really up to eating as much as I usually did.

I never really saw food as being nutritious, full of proteins and important for survival... If anything, I looked at it more as a source of pleasure and comfort, rather than energy and brain development.

Not caring whether or not I got fat, I always used to drown myself in jars of peanut butter after a shitty gig, or whenever someone insulted my music. I knew I shouldn't have cared about what they said.. but after all, I was Billy Joe Cobra. Image, as well as reputation was everything to me.

I just don't feel hungry any more.

Must be this... thing that's killing me.

It's eating, so that I don't have to.

xxxxx

As my stomach gurgled and groaned, I glanced down at the yellow and orange striped shirt covering it. Leaning back on my desk chair against the turn table, I lifted my hand and curled it's fingers under the hem.. before dragging it up. My eyebrows knitted together at the sight of the finely reformed ribs that caught my gaze. Letting out a deep sigh, I leaned down and picked up an untouched jar of peanut butter from the floor. Closing my eyes briefly before opening it, I dipped my finger into the sticky substance and brought it up to my quivering lips. Enveloping the digit, I soon found myself cringing and shivering at the once beautiful flavour. Dropping the jar with a loud 'thud', my face scrunched up in disgust as I coughed and gagged the substance from between my teeth.

Taking a few moments to catch my breathe, I glared down at the spilled jar of peanut butter which was now staining the carpet a sickly shade of brown. I couldn't hold the expression for long however, as I soon found my features loosening up until I could do nothing but choke on a muffled sob and bury my head in folded arms.

I must have stayed like that for god knows how long, because when I eventually lifted my throbbing head.. the room was in darkness. My eyes stung with dry tears and my cheeks burned in irritation. Rubbing them with the back of my hand, I pulled myself out of the chair and over to my guitar which was propped up against the stand.

Running my fingers along the freezing cold strings, I chill travelled down my spine.

A small spark of life shot through my body, lifting it up as I decided to take the instrument and stumble back to the chair, resting it in my lap.

Another smile tugged at my lips as the familiar feeling of the guitar pressed up against my chest. I plucked a few strings with my fingers before reaching for the pick and dragging it down them. The sound they created was the only thing filling the dark room other than my heavy, raggedy breathing.

I waited for inspiration to hit me like it always did.

I waited for my fingers to start forming chords by themselves while the others started to strum.

I waited for my lips to part. To sing. To form words of adoration and fame, in sentences that were worthy of accompanying the rhythmic pattern of the guitar's music.

But nothing came. I just sat there, staring blankly at my left hand while it wrapped itself around the neck.

I breathed out a shaky sigh of defeat. My hands began to tremble and my knee began to bob up and down.

Anger built up inside me from the pit of my stomach, to the back of my throat. I tried to hold it in, tried to control myself and any scrap of sanity I had left. Being in this room for weeks had finally taken it's toll on me.

Not being able to hold it any longer, the rage that had been piled up behind my mask finally broke free. A blood-curdling wail ripped it's way from my throat, deafening my senses and causing me to throw my guitar against the dimly lit wall. Faintly hearing a loud crunch and shatter, I sank to my knees as more and more screams and cries escaped my trembling, shrivelled form.

I eventually collapsed sideways onto the floor, curling in on myself as everything went even darker. The only sounds filling the otherwise silent room, were my pathetic whimpers.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

( I'm so sorry for the delay.. I've been seriously drowning in all this homework I've got.. but here you go finally, enjoy!)

After the little..incident I had two days ago, I found that everything had just been getting worse for me. It had gotten to the point where I couldn't sleep anymore (not that I did much of it anyway), I couldn't eat or drink.. and I just couldn't find any reason to be cheerful.

Whatever this illness was.. it sure knew how to suck the living happiness out of you that's for sure. I couldn't help but feel drowsier and drowsier as each day went by, struggling to even stand anymore without the help of shakily pushing against the chair.

I would often find myself stood in front of the mirror some days, for hours at a time.. just glaring at the person that copied my every move. God how I hated him.. his skin was starting to turn pale, while his eyes grew were red and sore. His once spiky black hair had soon faded into a sickly grey, collapsing around his depressing face and blocking his sight.

I eventually got sick of looking at this person, and I'm almost certain he felt the same way as well.. simply because of how we both lashed out at eachother.

I won obviously. His remains were shattered all over the floor in a combination of blood and glass.

I would often glance down at my bruised and slashed hands, wondering if it was even worth the effort.

I was almost certain that I was getting closer... to IT.

I felt it from the constricting pain in my chest, to the uncontrollable sensation in my trembling fingers.

Eventually, all I found myself doing was sleeping pretty much. My eye lids would become painful, heavier and even more of a burden to keep open.

This vicious cycle would continue to happen on a regular basis, until the next thing I knew, it's the middle of the night and I'm overcome with such a burst of raw emotion and inspiration, it forces me out of my chair and over towards my dusty, almost trashed piano.

Swiping off all the empty beer cans and bottles from it's keys, I gently sit down and rest my finger tips on top of them before taking in a shaky breath.

I soon relaxed and felt my entire body lose control of itself. My fingers began to gracefully move across each of the keys while my eyes remained shut in a deep frown of concentration.

I decided that since I was going to be gone soon.. at least I could go out in style, the Cobra way!

But no matter how hard I tried to come up with an awesome tune with sweet lyrics to go with it.. I just couldn't.

I didn't understand, I was always able to think up bad-ass songs on the spot, it's what practically launched my career... hell, I could even do it in my sleep.

But it was almost like something, or someone was telling me to dig just that little bit deeper.. to push aside all the narcissism and write what was truly from the heart.

No matter what.

My expression eventually softened, I released a sigh and let my eyes drop down to the quivering fingers below.

Reaching over and pressing record..

my lips parted..

"_Sound the bugle now,_

_play it just for me..._

_As the seasons change,_

_remember how I used to be..._

_Now I can't go on,_

_I can't even start..._

_I've got nothing left,_

_just an empty heart..."_

I felt my hands begin to relax slightly as they continued to delicately press the keys, forming chords and varies of notes.

"_..I'm a soldier,_

_wounded so I must give up the fight.._

_There's nothing more for me,_

_lead me away..._

_Or leave me lying here..."_

As I took in a deep, shaky inhale, my vision began to blur with a cloud of tears. Throwing my head back and attempting to blink them away proved useless as they soon spilled and trickled down my pale cheeks.

Instead of angrily wiping them away like I usually would.. I just let them flow, what was the point anyway.. no one could see me. It's not like they could judge me anymore... they already have.

"_Sound the bugle now,_

_tell them I don't care.._

_There's not a road I know,_

_that leads to anywhere.._

_Without a light I,_

_fear that I would stumble in the dark.._

_Lay right down,_

_decide not to go on..."_

My voice began to break as it got louder. I just couldn't believe the words coming from my mouth at this point.. is this how I truly felt? Was this truly me? How come I've never written anything like this before?

"_Then from on high,_

_somewhere in the distance.._

_There's a voice that calls,_

_remember who you are!_

_If you lose yourself,_

_your courage soon will follow..._

_So be strong tonight.._

_remember who you are.."_

I carried on like that for what seemed an eternity.. never wanting it to end, I had never felt so close, or even connected to my music than in that very moment. It was like it was it's own living, breathing creation that released so much depth and emotion... that the last thing I remember doing before everything went dark,

was smiling.

xxxxxxx

"_Tragedy has stricken Beverly Beverly heights today, as pop sensation, Billy Joe Cobra.. was found dead in his mansion at around 5:15 this morning. Found by non other than his manager, explaining that he was merely taking a few weeks off, and that she was simply checking up on him. The body was claimed to be resting against an old piano..with an odd smile on it's face._

_Now smiling had seemed like the last alternative for the young star, as further research has shown that the mysterious illness was none other than 'Lung cancer'.. Indeed spreading-"_

As the 13 year old spun his head to find who had changed the channel, Spencer Wright couldn't help but glare up at his mother holding the remote in one of her slender hands.

"You don't need to be watching that.." She breathed. Sniffing in order to try and hold back her tears.

The teenager simply looked up at his mother in confusion. Why is she so upset? Did she know the guy or something?

A telephone ring however, could soon be heard coming from the small kitchen in the other room, breaking the young director from his thoughts.

The woman, shaking her own thoughts away then turned around, placing the remote on the table and disappearing into the other room.

An almost whispered 'hello' could be heard by Spencer before he picked up the remote at turned back to the news.

"_.. It is unclear as to what will happen to the body at this moment in time, but we assure any fans.. or 'Cobraheads' that he will be placed somewhere safe and handled with the utmost care and respect..."_

At this point, Spencer began to feel a slight pain in his chest.. feeling his eyes start to water he rubbed them furiously before furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

'Why am I so upset?!' He thought. 'It's not like I knew him or anything.. is it?..'

There was that one time where he remembered playing hide and seek with something who looked like Billy.. but that can't have been him. Why would he, an all time pop star want to hang out with a little dork like him? It made no sense..

But there was also that camera he got a few years ago.. and he never even knew who it was from, all it said was that it was from Beverly Beverly heights. At the time however, Spencer didn't really care who it was from.. he was just grateful to be getting a new one, since his old one had got destroyed by his little sister's reckless karate kicks.

Soon shaking away his thoughts, he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. Looking up to see his mother again, she was sadly smiling down at him. Taking the remote off the boy, Spencer was sure she was going to change the channel again.. but to his surprise, she only turned the volume up and motioned for me to watch.

"_... and in the end Billy wa- Oh. wait.. it seems we have received new information.. instead of his belongings being auctioned off intentionally, distant relatives of Billy Joe Cobra, the Wright family will now in fact, inherit everything, including the house..._

_We'll have more after this."_

Spencer's jaw was hanging wide open, feeling him mum gently rubbing his shoulder she exited the room, the young director was then simply left in a state of shock and awe...

before a huge grin spread on his features.

THE END.

(Well.. I hope you enjoyed it.. sorry for being so depressing again.. but it's just so easy with Billy.. and it leaves a lot to the imagination when no one knows how he actually died.. so yeah..)


End file.
